


It's tradition...or it will be

by bsmog



Series: A boy, a girl, another boy, their kids, and a farmhouse [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff, Laura is a hell of a woman, M/M, Phil and Clint have things to work out as usual, SHIELD safehouses are well stocked, Snow, Snowed In, boys with too many emotions, but there's sex, pre-AOU, the author has no idea what happened here, unconventional relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 21:11:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5800237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bsmog/pseuds/bsmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's their first Christmas since Clint and Laura became Clint and Laura and Phil. Predictably, Phil and Clint end up snowed in for Christmas at a safe house, instead of home with their family. Luckily, they have time to start some new traditions.</p>
<p>Or, Phil and Clint get stuck in the snow. Feelings happen, and then sex, and maybe being snowed in isn't so bad after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's tradition...or it will be

**Author's Note:**

> I've taken up permanent residence in the Farmhouse 'verse. Or at least semi-permanent, plus I'm as snowed in as Phil and Clint for the foreseeable future, so I'm just gonna stick around for a while. The series doesn't have to be read in chronological order, but this would fit between 'The thing is' and 'In the farmhouse.'
> 
> Still no warnings, but I'll say the same thing here I always do. This is a happy poly relationship, and Clint and Laura are at the foundation of it. Proceed as you will.
> 
> Thanks as always to sapphirescribe for the encouragement, clean-up (remaining messes are all mine), and the reminders that posting snowed-in fic during Snowzilla (no shit, that's what they're calling this mess) was good motivation to get this thing finished.
> 
> Still Marvel's sandbox, I'm still just playing in it.

Clint looks out the window and mutters under his breath, maybe a little proud of the creative string of curses he manages to put together. All those assholes who ever wished for a white Christmas apparently didn’t realize they were wishing the whitest goddamn Christmas on record on _him_. In a _safe house_. In fucking _Canada_.

Not that he has anything against Canada; given the political climate in the states, he and Phil and Laura often fantasize about moving off the grid and into the wilderness up here somewhere. Except, y’know, S.H.I.E.L.D..

But today is Christmas, and Clint and Phil are a couple thousand miles and a fuckton of snow away from the farm and Laura and Cooper, and this is just _not_ the year for that.

It’s been a rough few months, if he’s really being honest about it. Phil moved in early in the year, and it’s been great, but it’s been hard as hell, too. Trying to navigate a toddler and a relationship that is, in all three of their lives, completely unprecedented, and still answering weird ass calls from Fury in the middle of the goddamn night or on fucking _Christmas_ had taken its toll on all of them. On top of that, it seemed that Phil and Laura had managed to find a comfort in this new life and with one another that made the skin on Clint’s neck feel hot and itchy, and he didn’t think about it too hard because when he did, he was forced to admit that he was jealous of Phil’s easy relationship with Laura, because Laura was _his_ wife.

And fuck that, because they’ve been doing all of this _for_ Clint, _because of_ Clint, at least in the beginning, and he knows he has absolutely no business being jealous.

But he’s Clint Barton, and no one’s ever accused him of being rational.

Still, he misses his wife and his son, and he hates the pinched look on Phil’s face that says he does too. Plus, he’s cold, and this miserable excuse for a safe house is drafty as fuck.

“Got it!” Phil’s voice carries from the back room—it’s a shit hole, but it’s a pretty sizable shit hole, and Phil’s been wandering around with the satphone looking for a signal, because goddamnit if they can’t be home, the least they can do is call home.

He smiles then, because he knows Laura’s answered. Phil’s still talking, but his voice is softer and full of affection and apology all at once.

“...not going to get home...sorry...miss you too…”

He sighs and makes his way to where Phil is twisted against the window to apparently maximize service, and waits.

“Love you, too. Yep, he’s right here, one second and I’ll give him the phone. Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” Phil waits, listening, a small smile playing on his lips. “I will.” Waits again. “We will, I promise. Here’s Clint.”

He’s still smiling when he slides off the sill and pats it for Clint to take his place, then hands him the phone. Clint is pleased when Phil presses a kiss to his cheek when they trade places. Hard year or not, he loves the hell out of his weird, amazing family, of which Phil was now a part.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” he says into the phone. “I’m so-”

“If you apologize to me, so help me, I’m hanging up this phone,” Laura says, her voice fond and sweet and warm. “It’s Christmas and you’re safe and with someone we both love, and I’m not alone either. We’ve had worse, and we’ll have worse again. I’m just glad you called.”

He grins.

“Remember that time I was in Morocco?”

“God, I thought you’d never get home, and then when you did you were so high on whatever they’d dosed you with you were worthless…”

“And I fell over into that ridiculous tree and broke everything on it _and_ my wrist…”

And they’re both laughing, because that more than summed up more of their holidays than not.

“I do wish we were home, though,” Clint says, still chuckling.

He winks at Phil when Phil walks back past the doorway, and it earns him a smile.

Laura sighs.

“Me too, and if the number of times Cooper has asked for you both in the last day is any indication, he agrees. But you’re safe, and to be honest, baby, I think…” She pauses, and Clint can hear her take a deep breath. “I think it’ll do the two of you some good to be alone for a couple of days.”

“I...huh?”

What? He’s also not usually accused of being eloquent.

Laura laughs again, softly.

“You know I’ve noticed how things have been lately,” she says. “And I don’t blame you. We don’t have anyone to look at to see how to make this work, and I think it’s been easier for Phil and me lately. But, baby, remember: you loving Phil is the reason he’s in our lives like this. That, and him loving you back.”

“And you being the most patient, understanding, amazing woman on earth,” Clint interrupts.

“Well, that too, but I’ve had practice. I’ve been married to you all these years.” She doesn’t miss a beat; he loves that about her. She never misses a damn beat. “My point is, you’re together for Christmas. You and Phil, and you love each other. And I love you both, and I’m glad you’re together. Now, go _be together_. And whenever the damn snow in Siberia or wherever you are lets up-”

“Canada,” Clint says absently, because he’s a contrary bastard and he likes to miss the point on purpose because it exasperates her and makes her laugh. Which she does, right on cue.

“Canada, then. When you can dig out, you can come home and we’ll have another Christmas whenever we can all be together. But for now, go keep each other warm, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, and come home safe.”

Clint chuckles.

“Sweetheart, you let me bring another man into our bed; telling me not to do anything you wouldn’t do doesn’t leave much out if I look back on the last few months.”

“Gee, Hawkeye. Imagine how that might have been exactly what I meant, so long as you both tell me about it later.”

He hears the laughter in her voice and _god_ , he loves her.

“How about a repeat performance when we get home,” he says, letting his voice drop an octave. “Show instead of tell?”

“I’ll hold you to it,” she says. Never misses a beat.

“We love you,” he says, sounding like himself again, because sultry isn’t really his schtick with the people he really loves. They love him for himself, and that’s goofy, reliable, irrational Clint Barton. “ _I_ love you.”

He swears he can hear her smile.

“I know. See you soon.”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, baby.”

He presses the button to end the call and pushes off the window sill. When he gets back into the main room, he’s more than a little delighted to find that Phil’s managed a pretty sizable fire in the fireplace, and even better, has found a bottle of something with a telltale amber color to it and two glasses. He’s smiling, and his face glows in the firelight, and fuck, he’s so goddamn gorgeous. Clint’s heart flips over in his chest.

“Everything okay?” Phil asks as he holds a glass out to Clint.

Clint nods and sips—Phil’s been fairly influential on his drinking habits lately, and he knows better than to toss his drinks back anymore. He sinks down onto the floor next to Phil, their backs against the lumpy, worn couch and their shoulders pressed together.

“Sometimes I miss normal Christmases,” Phil muses.

Clint snorts.

“Not sure I’ve ever had one of those. Not much cause for tradition in my life until recently.”

“You and Laura…?”

Clint shakes his head. “Usually on the job. No one makes sure you’re home for Christmas when they don’t know you have someone to be at home with.”

Phil ducks his head and just as soon as he’s said them, Clint wishes he could have the words back.

“C’mon, no, it was my choice. You know that.”

Phil shrugs.

“Yeah. Doesn’t make me feel any better about the fact that we kept you guys apart for holidays.”

Clint knocks his shoulder against Phil’s.

“Looks to me like you’re still doing it...maybe this is my Christmas tradition.”

He means it as a joke, but Phil looks stricken.

“Aw, Phil, no.” He huffs and turns. “Look. This is the job, and Christmas is just another day for me. Laura and I are used to celebrating whenever we can—you should have seen the year we celebrated in February. The tree was so crunchy we had to move it outside. I was honestly afraid the whole thing would spontaneously go up in flames.”

The side of Phil’s mouth curves up.

“I was…”

Phil trails off and ducks his head again, and Clint is simultaneously fascinated and a little worried, because this is an awful lot of shy from Phil Coulson, who’s been anything but for as long as Clint’s known him, and especially for the last year. Hell, without Phil’s ability to be a little assertive at just the right times, he’s pretty sure this whole thing among the three of them would have gone to shit the first time they all tried to get in bed together.

“You were what?” Clint asks softly, and he reaches up to turn Phil’s face towards his, letting his fingers scrape softly down the stubble on Phil’s jaw.

Phil shrugs, but he doesn’t drop his gaze. He sighs.

“I was looking forward to, um, to Christmas with a family. With...” He sucks in another deep breath and tries to duck his head, but Clint doesn’t let him. “With your family.”

Oh well fuck that.

“ _Our_ family,” he says, and he feels like he’s talking to an animal he doesn’t want to spook, his voice is so soft. “You’re part of this family now, you know that. We might suck at it sometimes, but I can tell you one thing: we’re better with you. _I’m_ better with you, okay?”

Phil smiles, even if his eyes are a little brighter than normal. Hell, in the last however many months since this whole thing started, Clint can’t even count the number of times he’s laughed through tears. Throw in parenting, and he’s not sure he’s spent much time not laughing or crying or both all damn year.

Whatever. Worth the ride every time. He swears it.

“Yeah,” Phil says. “Okay.”

Clint leans in and brushes a kiss across Phil’s lips, soft and fleeting.

“What’s this really about?” he asks, only pulling away as far as he has to in order to see Phil’s face.

Phil shrugs.

“I’m guessing the same thing Laura talked to you about before you hung up,” he says.

Clint smiles softly. Thank god for Laura, who makes them act like fucking grownups. They’d both be lost without her, if this conversation is any indication. All the more reason to get through all this.

“Look, we knew this would be hard,” Phil goes on, “but the part I didn’t expect to be hard was, um, was…”

Clint leans in and kisses Phil again, because he isn’t going to say a damn word, but he can encourage in more than one way, thank you very much. He’s a little more multi-talented than he likes people to think.

“You,” Phil finally says.

Clint snorts. Laura really should have been the spy in the family.

“This is funny?” Phil looks a little hurt, so Clint kisses him again, a little less softly this time, with a little more intent. And a little more tongue, because intent can be misleading, and Clint isn’t going for subtle.

“Not funny at all. It’s just...never mind. Doesn’t matter right now.” Later he’ll tell Phil that maybe he’s been working with the wrong Barton all these years. For now, though… “Look. I didn’t know what to expect, and I sure as hell never expected you and Laura to have an easier time making all this fall into place than you and me. And yeah, I’ve been an ass about it, but you know me. I’m pretty much always an ass, and the harder something is, the more of an ass I am until I figure it out or make it go away.”

Phil lets his mouth curve up again, and Clint can see the lines around his eyes starting to lose a little of their tension. Just a little, but he’ll take it.

“Hope you’re being an ass on this one to figure it out, rather than the other thing,” he says, but he brushes his fingers across Clint’s collar and lets them rest on his neck.

Clint grins.

“Think maybe I’ve spent too much time trying to figure it out and not enough time just... _living_ it,” he says.

Because honestly, that’s about right. Part of the reason Clint’s always been good at anything he’s good at—mostly being an assassin, although he’s done okay at husband and even father—is that he doesn’t overthink things. Which isn’t the same as just not thinking at all, he just trusts his instincts. Most of the time.

Just...not lately.

He looks around at the dimly lit cabin, the crackling flames in the fireplace, the kind look that never seems to leave Phil’s eyes when he looks at Clint. He glances up at the window and watches the snowflakes fluttering down in heavy layers outside.

Might as well get back to that instinct thing now. He takes Phil’s hand and sits back against the couch again.

“It’s not our _whole_ family,” he says. “But we’re still together, and it’s still Christmas. Gotta count for something, right?”

“Are you telling me that being separated from half our family,” Clint smiles at Phil’s use of _our_ , but doesn’t speak so Phil will instead, “and stuck in a blizzard in a safe house is going to be part of Christmas tradition from now on?”

They both laugh.

“I hope not,” Clint says, “but I wouldn’t rule it out. This isn’t even the first Christmas we’ve spent in a safe house. Or a blizzard.”

“First one we’ve spent in both at once, though,” Phil says. “And the first one we’ve spent…”

He squeezes Clint’s hand as he trails off.

“Together?”

Phil nods. Shakes his head. Nods again.

“ _Together_ together, anyway,” he says. “Christmas always felt...a little lonely. At least before now. Before you.”

Clint feels his face heat under Phil’s gaze, and Phil shrugs a little, as if to try to alleviate some kind of unseen pressure he’s placing on Clint with his last words.

“My parents are gone, no other family to speak of. And I never quite found interest in hooking up with some other agent on a mission in the interest of not being alone at the holidays.”

Clint grins at him again.

“Bet you had a lot of offers, though.”

Phil smiles back and squeezes Clint’s hand again. “A few. Never the one I wanted.”

And there’s the heat back in his face, because this thing with them is still new enough for Clint to be surprised that Phil ever wanted _him_. In fairness, he did the same for ages when he and Laura got together. People he cared about left him for so many years—and all of his formative ones—that he’s never quite managed to shake the feeling that he doesn’t deserve the ones who are with him now.

But Phil’s hand is warm and strong against his, and they’re so close that he feels Phil’s breath on his cheek. And if he doesn’t work through some of this shit while they’re stuck here together, he’s pretty sure Laura will have his ass when they get home, and not in the good way.

So. Instincts.

“I’m here now,” he little more than whispers.

“So you are,” Phil whispers back and smiles as he leans in to press his lips to Clint’s.

This kiss isn’t soft, or quick, or tentative. It’s like some of their first, full of heat and promise and discovery. Clint’s toes curl in his shoes, and he grasps at the front of Phil’s shirt, pulling him closer, begging for more with rough fingers and a gasp into Phil’s mouth. The thing is, usually Laura would be right there with them, warmth and softness pressed to Clint’s side or Phil’s chest. And Clint registers, even through kisses that threaten to knock his brain offline completely, that something’s different this time.

It’s just him and Phil. Since Laura and Clint became Laura and Clint and Phil, it’s never been just Clint and Phil. Even on missions, Nat’s been there. Or Sitwell, or some baby agent, or Fury, or all three of them and a few dozen more. Or they’ve been in medical—fine, usually Clint is in medical and Phil is just sitting by the bed with a book and a look of fond irritation—and surrounded by machines and doctors.

It’s been Clint and Laura, or Phil and Laura, or Clint and Phil and Laura. But not just him and Phil, and oh _god_ is Clint suddenly very fucking turned on, because Laura _told them_ to do this. Whatever _this_ turns out to be, and really it could be anything at all. They’ve got all night and maybe more, and nothing but each other. Clint moans a little in spite of himself.

Possibility and permission are sexy, apparently. Good to know.

“Wait,” he breathes, forcing his lips away from Phil’s for a moment—and a painful moment it is, too—so he can pull back enough to see Phil’s face.

Which, predictably, goes from glazed-over-turned-on to concerned in the blink of an eye.

“What?” Phil’s voice is breathless, but there’s no mistaking worry in his tone and Clint wants to smack himself in the forehead. “Do you not want to-”

“Fuck, no, yes, I want to.” The words spill out over Phil’s, because fuck if Clint’s going for the wrong idea here. “I want to a whole lot, more than once, and then again after that for good measure. You have no idea how much I want to, okay?”

Phil’s mouth curves up on one side. Clint ducks his head and grins.

“Look, I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea. You know I let my mouth get the best of me.”

“I’m counting on it,” Phil quips, and Clint snorts, because he’s basically a 12-year-old boy. “But I also notice we’re sitting here very much _not_ kissing anymore. You want to explain that, or do you just want me to kiss you again?”

“Both,” Clint says, because this honesty shit is something he’s working really hard on in this relationship.

Phil grins at him and kisses him, but it’s soft and shallow and over almost before it’s begun. Still, he knows he’s been rewarded for the honesty shit, so he grins right back. Then he bites his lip and thinks, because he doesn’t want his stupid mouth to fuck this one up.

“We haven’t...I mean, you and me, we haven’t…” Oh, this is going well. He huffs. “Not without-”

“Laura.”

Clint knows there’s something inherently weird about how much he loves the sound of his wife’s name coming from Phil’s lips, but he supposes it’s the same kind of inherently weird that makes him so fucking lucky to come home to both the people he loves at the end of the day.

He nods.

“You feel like it’s cheating?” Phil asks.

“What? Fuck no, not even- No. Absolutely not.”

Shit, that never even occurred to him. He wonders for a hot second if it should have, then he bitch slaps his inner voice, because fuck that, too. They’re grown adults, and they’ve talked this literally nearly to death—no, really, Clint’s pretty sure he thought he might die during at least two of their relationship debates. The fact that he was bleeding to death at the same time during at least one of those isn’t really the point here. The point is, everyone in this situation is more than consenting. Encouraging, even.

“I want…”

He huffs again. Goddamn it. He’s a fucking grown adult, a spy, an assassin, and Natasha fucking Romanov’s best friend. The very least he can do is use his words.

“I thought about this. A lot. You and me. Even when I thought it wasn’t something I could have, I thought about it. A fucking lot.”

“Without her.”

Clint nods, torn between relief at finally getting somewhere and guilt, because back then, the fantasy meant cheating. And he’d always loved Laura.

Phil trails his fingers over Clint’s knee, tracing an invisible pattern only he can pick out, and thinks. Clint can tell, he knows the Phil-is-thinking face, he’s usually the cause of it.

“You know Laura and I have…” He looks at Clint for confirmation rather than finishing the sentence, but Clint nods anyway.

“You had to,” he says. “If you hadn’t, you never would have known if you could do this for you, and she wouldn’t have known if it was just for me. You had to.”

“Right. So I guess what I’m asking you is how is this different? You and me? Shouldn’t we have the same chance?”

Clint looks Phil straight in the eye. This part is important.

“I knew I’d love you for the rest of my life even if I never got to touch you, much less kiss you or sleep with you. I just...knew. So that’s how it’s different. I never needed the reassurance. Not about that.”

Phil is smiling again, the soft, kind smile that lights up his eyes. The same one he had on his face when Clint barged into his office and blurted out his undying love ever so eloquently a year ago. And suddenly Clint can’t quite remember why he had to stop for this, except that he’s put that smile on Phil’s face, and he loves that smile.

“You’re trying to tell me this means something to you,” Phil says, lips suddenly much closer to Clint’s than he was a second ago.

Clint nods and flushes, because yeah, he pretty much just told his boyfriend he wants their first time to be special, and when the fuck did he turn into such a sap?

“Just so we’re clear,” Phil whispers, and now their lips are brushing while he talks, and Clint’s not even sure he wants to be clear, because he just wants to kiss Phil again right the fuck now, “it’ll always mean something to me, okay?”

Clint’s breath hitches. He knows it’s stupid that he still needs reassurance about this whole thing, but there it is.

“‘Kay.”

Then they’re not talking anymore, and it’s absolutely fucking perfect. Phil’s lips are warm and insistent, reassuring in a way that words can’t be. Clint slides his hands up under the hem of Phil’s shirt, pressing his fingers into the spaces between Phil’s ribs and curling his nails to bite ever so lightly at the warm skin beneath them, and Phil hums into his mouth.

Clint isn’t sure how they manage to get up from the sofa, how they shuffle to the bedroom in a tug of push and pull of clothes and scrabbling fingers. He knows they leave behind a haphazard trail of socks and t-shirts and boxer shorts, but he’s fuzzy on how they manage to strip them off, caught up as he is in the taste Phil’s mouth, the hot-slick slide of their tongues, the lingering flavor of scotch that passes between them.

What he does know is that his ears are buzzing, that every place that Phil’s hands touch his bare skin feels like it’s on fire, that his breathing is harsh and ragged and loud enough to fill the spaces between Phil’s breaths and moans, maybe even fill the whole cabin, and he doesn’t care. He knows that Phil’s body is strong and solid and a comfort when it’s laid over his, and maybe more importantly, better even than anything else, that Phil’s just as hard and just as turned on as he is.

“Fuck, that’s-” he gulps as he tears his lips from Phil’s for a second—and it feels like a second too long—gasping in cool air to try to keep his head for at least a little while. “You feel good.”

Hello, Captain Obvious.

Still, Phil smiles, kind and soft, and Clint can’t decide if he wants to stare at that smile or kiss it off Phil’s face. Phil makes the call for him, though, ducking his head to kiss Clint again, deep and wet and bordering on filthy, and when Clint tips his chin up, he drags them both across that line.

He can’t seem to settle on a place for his hands, so they roam over Phil’s back, his ribs, down over his ass. Phil groans at that, thrusts his hips down into Clint’s. Clint moans back into Phil’s mouth and flexes his fingers to pull Phil against him tighter, and oh, _god_ , that’s a slide he wants very badly to get used to. Except it’s too much and not enough all at once.

“I want-” He pants against Phil’s lips.

“Fuck me?” Phil murmurs over him, and the words dry up in his throat, because they’ve done a lot of things since the three of them started this thing, but they haven’t...he’s never…

“Christ, yes, fuck,” he breathes. “But we need-”

Phil huffs a laugh against his mouth, kisses him again.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. safe house,” Phil whispers. “You think they’re not all stocked?”

And that, that Clint isn’t expecting and it stops him short and earns him another laugh from Phil, who rolls his hips against Clint’s again and Clint sees stars for a minute until Phil rolls away and digs around in the nightstand.

“I never-” Shit, words are hard in the face of what he’s about to do. What _they’re_ about to do. “I’ve been-”

Phil laughs.

“Married, I know. You wouldn’t have known.”

Suddenly Clint has a picture in his head of why Phil might know about how safe houses are stocked, and-

“I fill out the forms to requisition supplies for these places,” Phil says as he crowds back against Clint and kisses him, long and slow and complicated. “Never had reason to use them myself.”

“I didn’t-”

“I’ve known you for years, I can see where your brain is going.”

Clint has the decency to look sheepish. Phil smiles down at him and sits up on his knees. Suddenly Clint is very interested in watching Phil squeeze slick liquid over his fingers, but Phil’s voice brings his eyes back up.

“For the record,” he says, then sighs and tips his head back for just a moment, eyes closed, and Clint knows he’s just slid his own fingers into himself and his brain just about goes offline, except he wants to hear what Phil has to say, “I like you when you’re a little jealous.”

Clint swears under his breath and lets his eyes drop to Phil’s arm, watches the muscles flex in concert with Phil’s breathy moans, and it’s all he can do not to come on the spot. He’s transfixed, though, and has no idea how much time goes by before Phil leans down and kisses him again and breathes, “Ready?” into his mouth.

Clint nods and gulps.

“There are condoms…?” Phil lets the question trail off.

Clint shakes his head. They’ve all three been through batteries of tests, and had backups of backups for good measure, because they didn’t want barriers between them, but also because Phil had insisted on making Laura feel safe. She and Clint had been just as insistent that it was a two way street, so Clint knows as well as Phil does that Phil’s clean.

Phil shrugs and smiles. “Just checking.”

Clint sits up and kisses him before pushing him back onto the bed and hovering over him.

“You’re sure?” he breathes as he reaches for the lube and rubs it over his palms and then—with a hiss—over his cock.

“Wanted you to do this since our first night together,” Phil whispers. “Watching you...I just...yeah. I’m sure.”

Good enough for Clint, he doesn’t think he could talk much more than this anyway, what with how Phil’s sprawled across the pillows and smiling up at him with a flush on his cheeks. He reaches down and pulls up his knees, and then Clint’s brain really does short-circuit, tunneling down to nothing except the feeling of Phil stretching around him as he pushes inside ever-so-slowly.

He thinks it takes forever, or maybe only a second. His eyes are locked on Phil’s face, watching for the slightest sign of pain. But Phil’s eyes are half-closed and he’s letting out quiet sighs mixed with whispers of _yes_ , and he reaches down to grasp Clint’s hand with one of his, linking their fingers and holding on tight. It’s so good, so perfect, that Clint has to close his eyes and suck in a breath, or this is going to be over before it’s begun.

When he opens them and stares down at Phil, Phil’s eyes are focused and clear and he’s got a small smile on his face. He nods at Clint’s silent question—thank fuck for that, because if Clint doesn’t move he might die—and grips Clint’s fingers even tighter in his.

His first thrust makes them both gasp, and the second doubles him over to press his lips to Phil’s, because he can’t possibly do this for one more second without tasting Phil’s moans. He slides his free hand up under one of Phil’s knees, pushing himself in deeper with a jagged breath.

“Jesus,” Phil gasps and bucks his hips up as much as he can. “Again. _Again_.”

Clint pushes Phil’s knee up even further and starts to thrust harder, faster, pushing his tongue into Phil’s mouth with the same rhythm and squeezing Phil’s hand against the sheets.

He feels Phil reach between them and start to stroke himself, and part of him wants to help, but he doesn’t want to let go of his grip on Phil’s hand or his knee. His hand is Clint’s lifeline, his assurance that this is really fucking happening.

“Love you,” Phil pants into his mouth.

Clint groans and rolls his hips harder, faster.

“Again,” he begs, letting his head fall to the side so his face is buried in Phil’s neck. “Say it again.”

He sucks sloppy, open-mouthed kisses into the skin under his mouth, hard enough to make Phil moan but not quite hard enough to leave a mark, no matter how badly he wants to.

“Love you,” Phil whispers. “God, more, please, I want-”

Clint nods and feels his thrusts start to lose their rhythm, feels the telltale sensations of _almost there_. He drags his hand down from Phil’s knee and wraps it over the top of Phil’s, squeezing and stroking and hoping-

And there it is, Phil’s head goes back against the pillow, throat bared and eyes closed, and he tightens around Clint’s cock and lets out a long, quiet, “ohhhhhhh.”

Clint keeps thrusting, keeps his grip on Phil’s hand in the sheets, tries to hold on until Phil comes down, because the look of bliss on Phil’s face is one of the best things he’s ever seen in his life.

But when Phil lifts his head and pushes their lips together, licking his way into Clint’s mouth and sucking on his tongue, Clint sees stars. His hips stutter as he comes. He vaguely registers Phil’s other arm around his back, feels Phil’s fingers digging into the skin near his spine as if pulling Clint further inside.

His face is buried back in the curve of Phil’s neck again, and he gasps against Phil’s skin as he tries to catch his breath.

“Fuck,” he mumbles.

Phil laughs, and the sensation of his muscles flexing around Clint’s still-sensitive cock makes Clint gasp. He breathes in and out a few more times, willing feeling back into his extremities. His whole body tingles and his mind is hazy.

“‘m squashing you,” he says absently.

“Mmhmm,” Phil hums into his temple.

“Sorry.”

Phil chuckles again, then hisses a little when the movement causes Clint to slip free.

“You okay?” Clint says, because he didn’t miss the hiss. He tries—with limited success—to push himself up off Phil’s shoulder.

“Better than okay.”

Phil squeezes their fingers together one more time before releasing them. Clint rolls to one side and turns his head to meet Phil’s gaze. Suddenly, he grins.

“What?” Phil looks amused.

“I promised Laura a repeat performance of whatever we did when we got home.”

Phil blinks at him for a minute, then laughs. It’s low and content and warm, and it washes over Clint like a blanket.

“Lucky me,” he says.

Clint grins. “Lucky both of us, I think.”

They lie there a few minutes longer. Clint’s pretty sure his own face is a mirror of the sappy smile on Phil’s, and even though he knows they should clean up, he can’t quite find the energy to move as long as that smile’s being aimed at him.

“Pretty good Christmas after all,” he finally says, because even if he’s away from Laura and Cooper, he’s not entirely without his family, and that’s a hell of a lot better than most he’s had.

“If this is what Christmas with you is like,” Phil says, “I could definitely get used to it.”

Clint rolls onto his side and leans over Phil to kiss him softly.

“We could make it a tradition,” he says. “Maybe a variation here and there, but it’s a good place to start.”

Phil grins up at him.

“I can work with that.”


End file.
